Blue Cauliflower
by Asema
Summary: An ill-fated battle in 2fort leaves a selection of mercenaries with their lives hanging in the balance. One-shot, speedwritten in 1:30 as practice, minor shipping elements. FFDN removed the scene transitions, but they should be obvious.


Dazzling rays of heat warmed the tough ground and worn old wood that dominated 2fort's exterior. To any plane that might pass over this godforsaken Nevada desert, the two buildings, sitting across from each other, might even seem abandoned if not for their good repair and the cleanliness of the water that rolled through the sewers beneath each one, creating a paper-thin protection against fire for any astute swimmer and a massive pool of water underneath the roofed bridge that connected the two buildings.

But the buildings were by no means abandoned. Every now and then, while the sun was high in the sky as it was now, a skirmish would begin on the bridge. Mercenaries - battle-hardened through countless near-death experiences, armed to the teeth with the finest weaponry improvised and not they could get their hands on, and from all walks of life - fought each other, their unique talents coming to bear against their nearly-identical counterparts on the opposing team.

The crack of a wooden baseball bat against a ball was the first sound heard from the RED side of the bridge. The almost digital sound created as the ever-present Medigun came to life was the first heard from BLU. The two sounds played with each other for a moment as the two teams assembled on each side, and then one vanished, as the ball whistled through the air and smashed the BLU Heavy right in his cranium, which guided the next and final attack against him. The BLU Soldier died next, but the one who killed him paid him no mind - he was always incompetent, always easier than the largest of the mercenaries.

The RED Sniper cackled maniacally as his rifle kicked in his hands, and he lowered it, his muscles steadying, for a wave to his dead opponent - and, he thought, the pikers that would be joining the huge ham in the afterlife. "Sorry there, fat man, I mistook ya for an actual th-" He thought wrong. His taunt died in his throat, as the BLU Sniper assassinated him from beneath the water. The Australian still breathing stopped when he opened his mouth to laugh back, and choked for it.

The battle was in motion now - the RED Soldier aimed his rocket cannon right for the BLU Engineer, and one blast took out his dispenser, two more his sentry and teleporter, and the last rocket was saved for the draft dodger himself - unfortunately, it was the only one to miss, and the shorty escaped back into the base. "Maggot!" The Soldier yelled, learning from his ally's mistakes and pressing on as he taunted. He was met in the middle of reloading by the BLU Demoman charging down the bridge, sword and shield at the ready, and he backed off, drawing his Shotgun and unleashing a flurry of shrapnel in his assailant's direction.

Sadly, the RED Scout was always an inattentive kid, and although he saved his comrade's life by jiggling his way into the path of the BLU Demoman, he lost his head in the process. Blood sprayed all over the Soldier's coat as he emptied his Shotgun and then, bravely, switched to his trusty Shovel. "HRAAAAAH!" He screamed, and tossed the entrenchment tool through the air. It spun - swish-swish-swish - and decapitated the BLU Demoman where he stood.

In spite of its Scout's poor play, RED held the advantage. Where its Sniper once stood, its Spy now seemingly slouched, while standing: the Ambassador in his hands imbued him with perfect aim, and its rounds took a particular liking to the craniums of whoever he put in his sights - to emptying, that was. He was a true professional, and leagues in skill beyond BLU's own Spy. Not once before had BLU defeated him, and the Spy knew - instinctually, with that fox-like cunning he possessed - he would not die here either. He had seen all eight of his teammates be replaced, but he never would be. Confidence.

Under the white flag stained red with his marks' blood, the Frenchman led a formidable crew: a Demoman wielding the new and improved Scottish Resistance, a weapon meant primarily for defensive measures which he was skilled at, but even more skilled was he at the use of the Loch-n-Load, which obliterated anything he shot out of the air, as he was wont to do. The Soldier in RED did not carry the Direct Hit like his counterpart did, no - he used the Cow Mangler 5000. His skill was the least of all his teammates (the breathing ones, anyway), but they would be hard-pressed to make him admit it, and even more hard-pressed to deny that, at the very least, he could take a hit. Their Medic was fond of the Kritzkrieg, and was currently charging it up on their Heavy, who wielded the dreaded Tomislav.

BLU could not hope to weather the assault their opponents were mounting. Their Medic appraised the situation quickly - both teams were down three men, but BLU had lost their strongest. He would not complete his Ubercharge before their Medic completed his Kritzkrieg, and that would be the end. He would have to assume that their Pyro was lying in wait underneath their base, but even if their Pyro was the only one... They were not getting past RED, not now.

"Raus, raus!" With one, smooth arm motion, the Medic directed his team towards the entrance to the BLU base. Then, he lowered that arm, and from inside his lab coat he drew his Ubersaw. A defensive measure, mein comrades, he thought, although he would not spare a moment to vocalize any attempts to reassure them. A bead of sweat ran down his forehead, and he moved a single gloved finger to press it down. The Scout, who just before had been ducking and weaving to avoid a Loch-n-Load shot, ran to the Medic's side. "Yo, doc! Numbnuts! What the hell're ya doin'!"

"We cannot hold against them! Move, schnell!" And that was when the Medic realized - he and the Scout were the only ones retreating. The Sniper had been under the water, but now had vanished. Where to, the Medic did not know. The Spy had also vanished, as was his entire job description, and hopefully might cause problems for RED, whatever he was doing. But that was the limit of the Medic's time to strategize under pressure, and with one firm hand he grabbed the Scout's spindly wrists and ran, the rockets, pipes and then bullets chasing them into the base.

The RED Spy always loved a good challenge. He knew also when a challenge was too much for him - one night after a smoky poker game, he met two dames. One pert, what an American might term a "soccer mom", and the other a busty beauty. Knowing that it would drain his limited patience and bank account to go with the other, he instead accompanied the Scout's mother home, and while he was right in referring to her as a "soccer mom" - as a housewife - he did not expect her to have such vitality or energy. But that woman had been stolen away from him - and he was now alone, hopping from floozie to floozie without direction, without passion. And he despised-

No more distractions, he thought to himself as he leaned against the wall, knife pointed at the ground as he peered out to see the Pyro, its breaths barely visible underneath the suit it wore, with its Backburner ready to flare up the slightest motion, to burn flies and friends out of the air in equal measure - he knew paranoia when he saw it. He was paranoid as well. With one quick motion, he dived out from behind cover, his grin twisting upwards to accentuate the plume of smoke that rose from his cigar - as the Pyro lit it, and him, as well. He vanished, leaving behind a flailing corpse and a ghostly voice:  
"Prego."

His Dead Ringer had activated. He dashed, all speed and grace, to the intel, where the Pyro was clearly going to meet him - there, through the corridor he did not take. He grabbed the intel, and rather than fleeing directly out, he backed away, aimed his revolver for the spot where the freakish firebreather would be, and shot. Again and again his rounds hit the Pyro, not doing much damage at first, but wearing down the Pyro's armour and strength. The Pyro switched to his Shotgun as the Spy backed out into the main room and reloaded, but it was too late, and the Pyro too slow - the Spy all but evaded the Pyro's first and only blast, and shot the Pyro down then and there.  
"Clearly, you were outclassed." He mocked the corpse as he straightened his tie and escaped, carrying the red briefcase.

"You are all incompetent cowards! Ahahaha!" The RED Spy laughed after the fleeing BLUs, then he spun on his heels like lightning. "I have some business to attend to, my friends," he addressed RED without speaking to them. "You go on ahead. Me - ah, you can trust me to handle myself." And then, without waiting for RED to consent, he left them, momentarily dumbfounded, and entered the RED base as they charged into BLU's.

His stroll was purposeful, leisurely, and almost mocking in its moxie. He slowed more than he already was, and came to a stop, as he faced the BLU Spy near the hay, Ambassador already loaded. The BLU Spy held his knife, and smiling, the RED Spy reached for his - the butterfly knife he had wielded from the beginning, and would wield until the day he died. In a bed, surrounded by a sortie of beautiful French women. "You are a little late, monsieur." The RED Spy said as he holstered the Ambassador and strode towards the BLU, who snarled. "And you are too early, mon ami. I would hate to have to escort your spine out of your body..." Malice overtook his simple disdain. "So why don't you flee like the Bushman wannabe you are?"

Wordlessly, the RED Spy fenced and struck. The BLU Spy's shoulder bloodied, suit ruined at a seam, he was forced to switch hands and swing his knife with the other. But the RED Spy parried his blow, and underneath where the knives met, struck him in the stomach, winding him. The BLU Spy stumbled back just in time to avoid a fatal lunge - but it almost felt like the RED Spy had missed on purpose. And he would not be able to escape, he realized while his reflexes took over and he narrowly avoided another expert stab, with the intelligence. The RED Spy pushed him back with his deft stabs and slices into the vent which now provided the only means of escape - and only then if the BLU Spy yielded here.

He did. He dropped the briefcase and fled unencumbered, the RED Spy smirking after him. Then, he took the briefcase, and carried it with him as he dropped down onto the bridge, and slowly, followed his teammates to the BLU base. It would be his parting gift to BLU. He would slaughter them all, and shove defeat down the jaws of victory - their victory.

BLU would not hold long, huddled in the base as it was. "Where is ze Spy?" the Medic asked the standing defence here - the Pyro, wielding zir (the pronoun zhe had insisted upon) Homewrecker with pride as the Engineer kept a close eye on all of his buildings. "I don't know, Doc. He probably ran back to France, with the way this darn situation is turnin' out." The Scout had bandaged his wounds now - one to the leg, one to the arm - and they had healed with the Medic's help besides. The Scout wondered... Usually, the Medic wouldn't go out of his way to save him. Or at least, the last Medic wouldn't have. But this one - he looked up to the older man. Clean shaven, intelligent, but in spite of that, sleekly muscular. Fatherly.

The Scout shook his head. What the hell was that crap? He stood up. He needed to get out of the base, and quickly - he was going crazy. "Yo, Doc. I'll go take a look around for him. Couldn't hurt." The Medic turned to look at him, and the Engineer likewise. He raised his hands and chuckled lightly. "Y'know, couldn't hurt more than them comin' in here and... Well, they're not gonna. I'll go find the Spy, and bam, everyone's dead from behind. Got it?"

The Medic pressed two fingers to his chin. He was clearly thinking quite hard, and for a moment, the Scout was worried he would try to refuse. But he didn't. "You are ze Scout. If any man can produce miracles in a team... Well, it is me, but I should know zat ze Scouts are quite resourceful as well. Move, quickly." And the Scout took his Scattergun and was off before their eyes could react. The Medic turned back to the Engineer, and began to heal him again. "Engineer, Pyro... If zer is a chance of victory here, it is zis Uber. Be ready for anyzing - zey could be here any time."

They would have another chance. All they needed was to get the intelligence back. They had barely any defences. These thoughts could not comfort the RED Spy, even as blood flew across the bridge - the RED Demoman's blood - and the counterattack merely triggered his Dead Ringer, which he used to escape into the relative comfort of his base. He took the long way around, and approached the basement from the right side, away from the hay. He was surprised, then, when his team's Scout appeared, saw his outlined, and turned around. "Yo, c'mon, c'mon!" His voice was a crackling whisper, and the Spy knew the situation was urgent... But also that his only chance for victory waited below. He descended with the Scout, no longer a man of thought, but of action. Their victory, if they ever tasted it, if he ever tasted wine again, would be narrow.

"Ze Spy!" The Medic brightened as the outline next to the Scout became more, became a man. That is what I am, the Spy thought, a man of fine birth and skill... Not a coward. And his last thought before his mind ceded to society, to conversation, was that he would have his revenge. "Yes, docteur. I am here, and my skill is at your disposal." His fingers twitched as he reached for his tools - Revolver, Your Eternal Reward, Dead Ringer, Sapper. The Medic trained his healing beam on the Scout, then on the Spy. "My Ubercharge is almost ready... But..." His face suddenly darkened. "Wizout a wounded target, it will not be complete in time for ze battle."

The clockwork clanging of the Engineer's wrench stopped. The Pyro looked up, and beneath zir suit, quivered. The Spy did not want to risk charging into battle now. "Ah... and, ze one who helps charge my Uber... it must be timed. Zey will not receive it." But the Scout - the Scout volunteered, and readily. "Let's go, Doc!" He raised his Scattergun into the air, and his moved, involuntarily, into his running position. The Medic looked to the Scout, and their eyes met. They understood. "Jawohl. Raus, raus!" And their footfalls were heavy against the floor as they charged up the stairs, and the Scout burst through the air, high above the team that had crowded together in the courtyard. Blam, blam! Two shots seriously wounded RED's Soldier, and a triple jump sent him out of the way of the rocket that targetted him - the damage he took, he recovered from quickly. Building the Medic's Uber.

"I am fully charged!" The Medic bluffed, and that turned everyone's attention on the only visible target, the Scout. Another rocket aimed for him, and this one struck. The Medic's healing power saved the Scout, and another shot - a counterattack if the Medic had ever seen one - wounded the Heavy, whose response was nothing more than shredding the Scout. The Medic's healing could not hope to keep up with such firepower, he knew - but... But his Uber was nearly built. The Scout had done his job. And yet, there was something he realized... He did not want to let go and escape. But he may have to. The Scout would not withstand the pain, and not long after that, he would die to the wounds.

The Medic would not - could not - let the Scout die here. This was their first battle together. And somewhere, deep within his mind, he was remembering - he was a doctor. He saved lives. He didn't end them. That thought wavered, as the Soldier blasted himself into the air with a laser and landed to confront the Medic. Still the Medic held onto the Medigun, and narrowly dodged a close-range shot. But the Soldier reloaded, and stood his ground as he begun to charge up his favourite maneuver: a maneuver that would surely end the Medic...

"Move it, Doc! Move it!"

The Scout looked back at him, his legs like jelly from the constant fire upon him, the enemy Heavy howling with glee as the Medic made the Scout's own attacks useless. The Medic saw him, his mouth hung open, and then he closed it. Resolve filled his face anew as the Scout consented... to sacrifice himself, as the others had been. The Medic let the Medigun beam leave him, and in seconds, the Scout was fleshy wallpaper for the wood above the staircase. The Medic drew his Ubersaw, and his coat billowed in the wind as the next laser, which he dodged, disrupted him. And then, with one jab, he ended the wounded Soldier, and filled his Uber. The Medic and Heavy chased him, but would not meet him in time - the Medic escaped to the basement.

The BLU Medic entered the intel room, his expression frank. He took note of the Pyro's absence, but said nothing. "Engineer, Spy... Ze Uber is complete. Ve vill stop zem here, understood?" The Engineer's doubt was visible, even behind his goggles, and the Medic's brow furrowed. In his face, the Scout's death could be seen. "Understood?" He commanded, and the Engineer nodded, slowly, solemnly. The Spy finished what he thought might be the last cigarette of his life, and rubbed it into the ground. "Docteur, the Pyro left to investigate the Sniper's disappearance." The Medic nodded. "Zat is fine. Ze Uber may be enough to win..." He paused. "No, it must be enough." The Spy stepped forward once. "Yes, docteur. I agree..." And placed a hand on the Medic's shoulder. "For our amigo."

Suddenly, they heard the sound of gunfire. Muffled screams. And the Medic looked to the Spy. "Come with me, Spy." He agreed without understanding why, and the Medic trained his healing beam on him as they entered the lobby - and their path was restricted by great amounts of gunfire. The Medic turned his vision just in time to see the Pyro, carrying the RED briefcase, gunned to mush by the RED Heavy. He scowled. This would be the end of them - and even if he fell, they would not have the strength left to pass the Engineer. But they would have to retreat to the intel room to have enough firepower to defeat all three remaining REDs-

A shot rang out. "Ayagahgahagh!" The RED Heavy's incoherent screams of death were cut off by maniacal laughter from the BLU Sniper, who now stood triumphantly, picking up the RED briefcase, and his mad blood-splattered grin forced the RED Medic, Kritzkrieg ready to die in its place, into taking a fearful step back. Or they did - until another pained scream rang out, horrible music to the BLU Medic's ears. There was the sound of electronic fizzling - much of it - then exploding metal everywhere. The BLU Medic and the Spy turned around, but nothing was there. The BLU Sniper shot down the RED Medic, and the BLU Medic and Spy went into the intel room.

The Engineer had been killed, with his machines as well. The intelligence was missing. And another scream - yet another - confirmed what the two realized as they looked at each other: the RED Spy was here. They would have to meet him, they would have to fight him, and they would have to win. The BLU Medic's fear vanished as the BLU Spy simply smiled. "Ze Uber, docteur." And they went to meet their greatest foe - in the lobby he stood, both briefcases in his grasp, taking a drag from his cigarette.

"Gentlemen?"

The BLU Spy snarled. "I will kill you this time." He stated. But the RED Spy simply laughed his derisive laugh. "I am your superiors in skill - I may as well be in number. You, as I have said, are all incompetent cowards, and I am the legend, the RED Spy. What you have that I do not know, I will never know." But the BLU Medic trained his healing beam on the BLU Spy, who replied, "We are comrades." The RED Spy laughed. "And that has never worked for you in the past." The BLU Spy's smile did not fade. "We also have intelligence." The Uber came to life, and the battle was naught but a curbstomp - the RED Spy's knife, his shots, they all bounced against the glowing bright aura that now surrounded the two, and the BLU Spy took great glee in dissecting him... as did the Medic.

They carried the enemy intel to their room. Upon scanning and uploading the files within, they would be declared the victors. Together, they would be moved to a new, more skilled team in some other, cushier locale with better benefits. And if they kept up their skin-of-the-teeth performance, that would only be the beginning. This was as good a time as any, the BLU Spy thought. He reached out for a handshake, and the BLU Medic raised his hand as well. "Good verk, mein comrade." He said, but the handshake he expected did not come. The BLU Spy grabbed his labcoat, and pulled him into an embrace.

"Aheh...!" The Medic would blush, if the Spy could at all see that. But the Spy's embraces were as passionate as they were brief, and he pulled away to face the Medic, who hid his unbound affection. "Well played." The Spy whispered, and the Medic smiled to his only teammate. "I would not say zat..." He said, as he recalled the Scout's death. But then the Spy put his mind out of that by stroking his cheek, and then, quickly, pulling away. The Medic stammered to find something to say - they both understood. There was no need to say "I love you". But this was such an important moment, the doctor knew, and defining...

"You would, ah, you look quite dashing underneath that mask, I am sure."  
"Perhaps some day, you will find out, ma chau fleur."

FIN 


End file.
